


Kingly and Queenly Duties

by friendlybomber



Series: Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Coping, Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae, F/M, Post-Break Up, so no one told me that alistair breaks up with you if you make him king and here i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlybomber/pseuds/friendlybomber
Summary: They say he is going to be a king. That he has a duty to Ferelden, and that his blood burns with royalty he never asked for. But she has a duty, too, and her people don't have queens, anyway.Post-break up fic to cope with the fact that TWO of my Dragon Age love interests have now broken up with me before the final battle.





	

They say he is going to be a king. That he has a duty to Ferelden, and that his blood burns with royalty he never asked for.

But he doesn’t feel like a king.

Not when he’s striding quietly along beside her as they follow a then-witch future-friend to a small town they’ve never heard of, that cheery demeanor she’s known for only a short, short time dissipated like pipe smoke in the rain, lip quivering when he thinks no one is looking, eyes blurring for just one second and then not at all, several names ringing through his ears like a chantry bell but one pealing louder than the rest, a hole burned into his life from birth punched out again. He doesn’t feel like a king to her when he says he’s being selfish as if his self isn’t affected by betrayal and blight.

He doesn’t feel like a king.

Not when he’s checking up on her in the night because he saw her, writhing in her sleep like a soon-to—be-drowned sacked kitten, and he knows, Maker, he _knows_ just how awful this whole thing is, just how terrifying it is at first, the changes, putting something in your body and letting it burn its imprint into you, replacing your ears, replacing your appetite, replacing your blood, consuming you as nightmares consume pretty-eyed elves and darkness consumes even the clearest days. He doesn’t feel like a king to her when he jokes it off the next morning, because maybe a little humor will get her through this as well.

He doesn’t feel like a king.

Not when he whistles idly to himself as they journey, grating into Morrigan’s ears and onto Sten’s last nerve a million times over and refusing to stop because he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, it’s just such a pretty day out and the road is clear and for a moment, just one, tiny, moment, he can forget exactly what he’s doing, he can be content like he probably was once, and that glint in his eyes is almost elfish, like Tamlen’s before they found a mirror that reflected the true face of Ferelden, and perhaps he would have done okay as a Dalish, or perhaps in an alienage. He doesn’t feel like a king to her when she whistles right along with him and he gets a big stupid grin on his face that stretches and threatens to consume his dull-tipped ears if he’s not careful.

He doesn’t feel like a king.

Not when he’s coming apart under her, whining her name because that’s all that will come out besides “Oh, Maker”, and she _knows_ his knees have gone numb from being bent like that for so long, but damnit the skin where her thighs are pressing into his is on fire and the skin where her chest is pressing into his is on fire and his lips where they’re snagged within her own are on fire and everything is moving at that perfect rhythm he knows must exist for the first time and Maker, why couldn’t they have figured this all out sooner? He doesn’t feel like a king to her when he clamps down on her shoulder with his teeth to keep from crying so loudly Zevran makes another blithe comment that sends a pink blush across his cheeks and ears the next day.

But her people don’t have kings, and how should she know what they feel like?

Perhaps he feels like a king.

Perhaps when he is feeling the loss of his people so deeply and so acutely, when he values unity and togetherness and justice to the point of giving the rest of his years to realize it all, when the best thing in his life, the most beautiful stroke of good fortune to slap him upside the head explodes like an over-heated crystal in his face, and he feels it all so deeply because he is not in the practice of denying parts of himself for appearances, yet he knows that he can’t slow the others down, he knows he still has a duty, he knows he must think of others, because he knows when not to trouble the already troubled. Perhaps he feels like a king to her when he is selfless to the point of self-sacrificing, when he lets himself hurt but expects no one but himself to carry the pain.

Perhaps he feels like a king.

Perhaps when he sees hurt and knows he cannot fix it but he can do something, anything, because to do nothing would be to show apathy, to show callousness, and he is not callous, because he leads from the back, he leads through example, he shows how to be a good person and how to teach a songbird to sing and he doesn’t want her to hurt anymore, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt anymore, and maybe there is nothing he can do but he’s going to make the effort, damnit, because it’s the right thing to do and he cares. Perhaps he feels like a king to her when he sells his body to monsters in order to protect every other person in the world, and still he tries to get the world to smile through the pain.

Perhaps he feels like a king.

Perhaps when he is not entirely duty, when he is not entirely justice, when he is not entirely royal, when he is joyful, when he is happy, when he is innocent, when his heart is pure and light, when he is the songbird he must teach to sing, when his existence is enough to perhaps transcend cultural borders, when he is no longer himself but every himself in Ferelden, human, elf, it doesn’t matter, he is a man, he is hopelessly cheery at times, he is common, he picks flowers, he whistles, he makes jokes, he’s a man and he’s worthy. Perhaps he feels like a king to her when he shows he is more than a ruler and less than a man.

Perhaps he feels like a king.

Perhaps when he finally isn’t nervous to be intimate with her, when he is simply moving and letting it happen, when he is letting the pieces click together, and the confidence is only helping him, only helping her, only helping whatever it is they’ve got going on there, when he is making her gasp and sweat and bite her lip, and maybe she’s just nineteen, but maybe that’s what royalty is, the way he moves in her like he could conquer nations, the way he learns and matures, the way he has the last word this time, and maybe he will for many, many more nights. Perhaps he feels like a king to her when he winks at her after they’ve collapsed and he’s still beneath her and he says, “Maker’s breath, I think I’ve figured it out” and they laugh and there’s that cocky, elfish gleam in his eye again as he kisses her like a fucking king.

Perhaps it isn’t that he doesn’t feel like a king to her at all. Perhaps it is simply that he feels so much like a king, no other king she’s ever heard of can compare to his absolute regality.

But he has a duty.

It is his duty to Ferelden to be a good king, and a good king does not marry some backwoods Dalish girl with facial tattoos and no chance of ever giving him a little Theirin child. It is his duty to Ferelden to provide a suitable heir. It is his duty to tell her that she cannot fulfill his for him.

But she knows about duty too. Just as well as she knows that he is a king.

It was her duty to keep Tamlen safe. She failed.

It was her duty to save as many lives in Lothering as she could. She failed.

It was her duty to stay devoted to him no matter what. He stole that out from under her and she is still falling, still falling, down, down, down, down to the Deep Roads where Caridin burned not-quite-alive, but she can still shoot on her back, can still kick through the air, can still control how she lands because she is Dalish, damnit, and they know how to fall better than anyone else.

Yes. She knows a thing or two about duty.

It is her duty to kill the archdemon and end the Blight. Maybe she can’t have Alistair – no, not Alistair anymore, _The King_ , _His Highness_ , he doesn’t like it when people treat him differently but he is acting differently and he brings it upon himself – maybe she can’t have him, but she has herself. And she has her bow.

She has a duty to see this through, just as he has a duty to break her heart, but not her spirit. It’s a king thing. And he is so royal.

She is not royal, but she is determined.

She has a duty to see this through for Tamlen.

She has a duty to see this through for Duncan.

She has a duty to see this through for that little boy in Lothering and that little girl in Redcliffe and that little orphan in Denerim. She may not be a queen but she has burdens to bear and lives to save.

Yes, she understands duty. Just as she understands that he is a king. Her king, but not hers.

But her people don’t have queens, anyway.

They say he is going to be a king. He has fulfilled his kingly duty. Now, it is her turn to follow through on promises she never wanted to make.

One way or another, that dragon is coming down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> so obviously im making the note at the end (so that you wont be turned off at the beginning yall) to say that this was written while not in the best headspace and was edited in the same state of mind. so, sorry. i went into origins blind after having played da2 and dai for over a year now, and no one decided to tell me that beautiful, wonderful alistair thinks its fitting to break up with a non-human noble warden. i'm salty. oh well, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, right?
> 
> no. give me my best pal-istair back.


End file.
